Trace of Rouge
by LabyrinthDweller
Summary: How had his friend, how had she taught him to waltz before he had to go to this wedding?


_Inspiration pulled from "Shall We Dance?" and waltzing in general. I'm of course referring to the original Japanese version of Shall We Dance? because that one makes more sense as it takes place in a country where ballroom dancing is a socially awkward taboo, a trait that doesn't fit here in the American remake. Also I find waltzing ridiculously romantic._

_And yes, the title is taken from a Phantom of the Opera song. Because I am original!  
><em>

_For **TeaRoses**.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>Trace of Rouge<strong>

Bitter obligations held by weak, insignificant family ties. It was hardly Henry's fault, of course. He was simply a branch on the forgotten side of the family tree, picked up to be a part in a cousin's wedding due to his cheap price as a photographer and the ability to take advantage and cheapen his services further by pulling out the dusty family tree. Henry was sure he had fallen off and far from the tree long before, but...apparently they still remembered the shy cousin that stood in the shade of trees and the corners of the houses while all the other, louder cousins played their games of tag, duck-duck goose, house, and other such childish things. Typical they should remember him to reduce the costs of their (admittedly, already costly) wedding.

Which cousin was this again? Brian, Alexandra? Jonathan? What did it matter. Henry remembered faces, not names. He just wish he had more guts to assert how much they were going to pay him for photographing the entire thing with actual, real film that he would then have to develop late into the night. There was nothing he held against analog photography, but he didn't look forward to meeting deadlines that required him to stand over fuming chemicals that made his head throb with the constant, maddening sound of running water to blur everything into a dull drone. Along with that, he was paying for these expensive chemicals out of his own pocket. He should really look into digital photography some day. Then he wouldn't have to deal with the strong smell of the stop bath chemical that clung to his skin no matter the strength of the soap and cologne he used to wash it off. She had even caught onto the scent of the stop bath underneath his cheap cologne one day—probably curious from the amount of cologne he put on in the first place, after all, it wasn't like they were dating.

More wine for the weary. He didn't want to think about her now; their most recent encounter had ended...oddly. Pushing the image of her away, he looked at his warped reflection in the remaining wine in his glass. What wine was this? Chardonnay, Merlot?

_Merlot is a red wine, you fool._ Henry hid the grimace of his ridiculous mistake by finishing off the rest of the wine in one gulp. Well, what did he know. The last wine he touched was a white wine that he never got to taste anyways. He choked and forced the wine down his throat before he vomited on the floor at the sudden image of hideous rotting dogs out for his flesh. Coughing and sputtering, he struggled to regain his composure and forced the dogs in his head to retreat by recalling her face again. Vicious cycle.

"Well, I knew my good looks were stunning tonight, but I never thought they'd cause a man to choke from staring at me!"

_Oh god no!_

Henry sputtered incomprehensibly as a fine young woman roughly pulled him out to the dance floor. It was a miracle that he was able to put the wine glass down on a table before she led him deep into the thicket of bodies swaying and turning in time to the smooth music. _This _was what he had been dreading the most. Had he been unwillingly staring at this woman the entire time he was in outer space? Henry nearly toppled into her. She was smiling but Henry felt as though her smile was some sort of a lie. Maybe she was drunk. Henry _hoped_ she was drunk even though it was still early in the evening—that way any mistake he was sure to make would slip past her easier than a sober woman. Forcefully pulling his clumsy hands to her waist, she gripped the shoulder of his cheap rented tuxedo and waited for him to lead her in a dance.

Henry _prayed_ she was drunk as he tried to keep himself from trembling as he stepped forward to lead her.

How had his friend, how had she taught him to waltz before he had to go to this wedding? She started out in the lead, and just when he was starting to get the hang of the dance and _not_ step on her feet she switched roles with him. Of course it was simple for her to say that he had to 'reverse the steps' and 'do everything backwards' than what he learned, but that ended up a disaster. First of all, his friend had waited for him to make the first move—a wait that lasted a few eternities. Then he stepped on her feet and ankles a few more agonizing times, and had collided with her a couple more. The way her nose had squished into his chest—

The way _this woman's nose_ was squishing into his chest _right now_ because of a mistake he had made. He bit his lip harshly and withdrew, apologizing. The woman who dragged him onto the dance floor laughed gaily and said something sarcastic and teasing about his dancing skills. Her grip on him was strong, disallowing him to pull away and disappear into the crowd, hopefully to some corner where nobody really would notice him there. All embarrassments put aside, he didn't want this woman's nose to press into his chest again whether on purpose or on accident, because this nose was flat and wet while hers was soft and perky.

Perky like the faint freckles on her nose that only showed in the proper light. She had told him to focus on her face, not their feet. He chose to focus on her freckles as she gently guided him back and forth through the cramped living space in her apartment. It was almost like playing a game of hide and seek with the freckles. If her face was turned to the sunlight from the window, he could see them clearly, a fine accent to her face. But if they turned and if his broad shoulders blocked the sun, they would fade away in the lavender shadows and he would have to patiently wait until they showed again.

There were no freckles on this woman's face and Henry was beginning to feel ill, whether it was from being pulled from his personal bubble or from drinking a glass of wine on an empty stomach he couldn't tell. Possibly both. The music was slowing and his feet, clumsy as they were, treading on others as they were, followed the smooth beat and slowed as well. The woman was still smiling at him, though much less wild and staring at him more in interest though he was desperately trying to find a place his eyes could look that wouldn't give her any off-color ideas. Now if only the music slowed to a stop, he would nod appreciatively at the woman and scurry off to some obscure corner of the large room.

There were no obscure corners in her apartment to hide in when the music in their heads slowed to a stop. They were still dancing, yes, but waltzing? No. Whatever dance lesson she had briskly shoved him into suddenly became very distant as they stopped in the middle of the living area. Henry could see in his peripheral vision the coffee table she had pushed aside into the corner. It was askew but she didn't seem to mind at the time, eager to start a lesson that Henry was embarrassed to admit he needed in the first place. The coffee table was askew and though he saw that he also saw that she was staring at him, as if dazed by his face. The coffee table was askew and their bodies were touching but he didn't seem to feel a difference.

The coffee table was askew and she leaned forward on instinct to close the distance.

Henry jerked away from the woman just in time. Her fermented breath had brushed his lips and brought him back to the loudly lit dance floor, packed with couples young and old. He muttered an apology, repeated it in a louder voice, then repeated again in a whisper as he ducked under the swinging arms and squeezed between the backs of dancers. He hadn't gotten permission to leave yet but he was going to—he had taken enough pictures for his liking anyways and there were only four pictures left on the roll. They'd get twenty pictures from him and maybe some others he didn't know about. The pictures would be heavily cheapened and he'd have to survive on instant dinners for a while, but he didn't care. He had to get out of here. Gripping his camera close to his body, he kept his head lowered as he stole out into the dark parking lot and to his beat up sedan.

Clambering in with barely the mind to put his camera in its proper case first, he slammed the door shut and froze. His fingers trembled even when he stiffened them against the steering wheel. He tried desperately to calm his heavy breathing, and pressed his forehead to the cool wheel. That was too much for one night. After that he could barely tell what time line he was in and what was the present. He needed to calm down.

Then he needed to call her. Some part of him was screaming that that was the most absurd thing to do _especially_ after they had dropped out of contact ever since the dance lesson. But he _had _to call her. He didn't know why and he didn't know what he would say when she (if she) picked up the phone, but he had to call her. Plucking his cell phone out of his messy glove compartment, he dialed her number with ease, all anxiety and trace of emotions leaving him.

"H'llo?" A sleepily slurred voice answered, "Who's this?"

Henry blinked. Was it that late already?

Without responding he turned the key in the ignition, easing the car to a start. On the other end of the line there was some muffled shifting as the voice woke up, gaining a suspicious edge.

"Who is this?"

"Ah, s-sorry, that was—," Henry mumbled apologetically, widening his eyes at the time. 11:32? He was dancing with that woman for thirty minutes? He was in that ballroom for over three hours?

"Oh, Henry," Relief flooded Eileen's voice. Henry imagined her tense shoulders falling loose and relaxed as she resumed a casual atmosphere. After a moment of contemplation, she spoke again, clearly hesitant to talk with him.

"Is the wedding done already?"

"N-No...," he answered truthfully, "I just...left early." He tried to busy himself with checking all the gauges and buttons on his car even though he wasn't actually paying attention to anything he was doing. It sounded like she was going to say something, but she cut herself off and continued on with a meek, stiff tone.

"How'd it go?"

He thought for a minute and tried to place the thoughts relevant to her question to the front of his mind. Rubbing his temples in mental pain, he sighed quietly.

"Awful."

"Did they make you...um. Dance?"

The levee on Henry's mouth broke and he suddenly found himself spewing words, feeling as though he was confessing to a priest just beyond the electrical wall of their telephones.

"I don't know her...she just...pulled me out and into the crowd before I could do anything and...had me...Well, I, it didn't go that well...,"

"Was she mad?" Eileen asked, concerned and curious.

"No. Too drunk already," he supplied, relieved. Eileen chuckled softly in response, causing Henry to let a small smile tug at the corner of his lip. The smile didn't last as he tried to form his words before continuing on. This was something he had to tell her, to get off his chest, but to bring the topic up...he was afraid. She had clearly been avoiding this very topic ever since she recognized his voice, what would she do if he—the shy, quiet one—was to bring this up? Eileen was patient though, waiting for his comfort to return as she listened to him start over words and scrap them before completion.

"She tried to...She tried to do what you did." he blurted finally, lowering his head to the steering wheel in confused failure. He could hear Eileen stiffen on the other side of the line.

"...Oh." she squeaked guiltily.

Silence.

_Damn it, Townshend. She's going to hang up._

He heard her breath increase in volume and he counted them, knowing the magic number before she would mutter a quick good-bye. He was going to let her hang up, too. It was far too easy for him to let things like this slide, but just as she drew in a breath to speak he blurted again.

"Eileen, I—," _Eileen, I what?_ What was he going to say now? How could he follow-up? This would've been much better and much more effective in person, where he could send her silent signals, the kind she was getting so used to seeing and becoming so good at interpreting.

He felt the false presence of her eyes on him and he shivered and shrank back in the front seat of the car. No. No, no, no. _Much_ better over the phone.

"I could be better at dancing...," he mumbled, hiding his misery. That accursed tongue of his! No wonder why he didn't speak much in the first place! There was an agonizing silence greeting him, and Henry was afraid that she was going to hang up without even gracing him with a good-bye first.

"...Okay," she answered slowly, "Okay. Tomorrow?"

Henry gurgled a lousy affirmation. It didn't matter—he wouldn't be able to sleep the night before whatever day they picked anyways. They bade each other distant good nights and Henry drove himself to his cramped apartment to lie in bed, eyes wide in anticipation until the sun rose.

–

They were professional towards each other so much it almost hurt as Eileen once again pushed the coffee table aside, taking care to make sure it fit nicely as she was moving with distinct, well-thought motion. He couldn't help but notice the circles under her eyes before she started to dance with him. Had she slept as well as he did?

They started moving and Henry found himself focusing on her elusive freckles again. Keeping their thoughts off of one another, they soon became lost in a pool of their minds as their feet moved—not perfectly, but comfortably about each other, neverminding the occasional trodden toe or nose pressed into the chest. It was so familiar from before that when they stopped he found Eileen leaning in again. Perhaps it was his suddenly pounding heart that gave them away, because she caught herself breathing on his lips and she quickly withdrew, cheeks blushing to a rosy color as they had before after she realized what she had succeeded in doing. Eileen let go of his arms and tried to step away to prevent the thing that had happened before and to avoid the awkwardness and the abrupt leave, but to her shock he stopped her, holding her elbows firmly to keep her in place.

If one had asked Eileen, she would remark that he had done braver things before that day, but asking Henry was a completely different matter as he summoned up the courage in an instant to lean down and kiss her softly on her surprised lips.


End file.
